


soggy clothes and breezeblocks

by hollyhobbit101



Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [9]
Category: 9-1-1: Lone Star (TV 2020)
Genre: Angst, Bad Things Happen Bingo, Hurt Carlos Reyes, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Missions Gone Wrong, Torture, Violence, Water Torture, Whump, Whumptober
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:01:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26747023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hollyhobbit101/pseuds/hollyhobbit101
Summary: Carlos wakes up slowly. He cracks his eyes open, wincing at the pounding in his head. He lifts his hand to massage the pain away, only to discover that his hand won't move, the cool metal of handcuffs biting viciously into his wrist.After an undercover mission goes wrong, Carlos is forced to fight for his life. And to make matters worse, his kidnappers are making sure that T.K. is watching the entire thing.
Relationships: Carlos Reyes/TK Strand
Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1691701
Comments: 4
Kudos: 105
Collections: Bad Things Happen Bingo, Whumptober 2020





	soggy clothes and breezeblocks

**Author's Note:**

> whumptober day 1 - waking up restrained
> 
> bad things happen bingo - water torture (prompted by 221bsunsettowers on tumblr)
> 
> title from breezeblocks by alt-J

Carlos wakes up slowly. He cracks his eyes open, wincing at the pounding in his head. He lifts his hand to massage the pain away, only to discover that his hand won't move, the cool metal of handcuffs biting viciously into his wrist. He frowns, forcing his eyes wider, taking in the room he’s in. 

It’s dirty, litter strewn across the stone floor, clearly having been abandoned for years. The windows are broken and the low ceiling looks liable to fall in at any moment. Carlos shivers, a chill stealing through him; he’s barefoot and his shirt is missing. 

His head aches dully as he strains to remember what happened. He’d been on an undercover mission, trying to expose Austin’s latest drug ring, he’d been  _ so goddamned close  _ to finally getting a breakthrough. 

_ Fuck. _

There were more officers with him on the case, but Carlos knows there’s very little chance of any of them coming to find him. Judging by the lack of light filtering through the windows, it’s still night, which means they won’t notice anything’s amiss until he misses check-in in however many hours. It’ll take longer to figure out that he’s been taken, and longer still to find him, presuming they do. And by that time…

Well, Carlos doesn’t want to be pessimistic, but he knows his odds. It’s realism, if anything.

He just wishes he could talk to T.K. one last time. Tell him he loves him. Tell him he’s sorry.

A door bangs open behind Carlos. He tries to crane his neck to see who it is, but he’s stiff and his mobility is already limited by the restraints. He doesn’t have to wait long, however; the guy makes his way around to face him, and Carlos instantly recognises him as one of the gang leaders. Anderson, his name is. He’s carrying a chair, which he sets down in front of Carlos.

“Good to see you awake,” he says, an ugly smile twisting his features. He sits, leaning forward, steepling his hands together. “To business, then. Carlos - can I call you Carlos? - we have a little problem, you and I.”

A chill of fear steals through Carlos at the sound of his name. He doesn’t understand how he knows it - he thought he’d been so careful.

Anderson chuckles. “Yeah, we know who you are. You can dress how you want, pretend to be whoever you want, but you smell like a cop. I had the lads do some digging, it didn't take long to come up with a name. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Carlos Reyes.”

Anderson stands and walks behind Carlos, placing his hands roughly on his shoulders. “Now, that brings me onto my problem. You see, I know there’s more of you. Two, three, I don’t know. They’re better than you are. I have my suspicions, of course, but I need to be sure, you know? Can’t be getting rid of some perfectly good workers now, can I? So.” He digs his nails into Carlos’s skin, leaning close. “You tell me who your little cop friends are and I promise I’ll make it quick for you. Scout’s honour.”

In answer, Carlos throws his head back, relishing Anderson’s pained yell as it connects with his face. The pressure disappears from his shoulders, but the moment is short-lived; Carlos grunts as a hand connects with his head, snapping it forwards. 

Breathing hard, Anderson comes to stand before Carlos, a hand cupping his cheek. Carlos feels a stab of disappointment at that - he’d been aiming for the nose. Still. It’s a victory, albeit a somewhat pointless one.

That fact is kind of rammed home when Anderson growls, “Poor choice, Reyes.  _ Very  _ poor choice.”

He nods curtly, eyes fixed on a spot just over Carlos’s left shoulder. Carlos tries to see, but once again the restraints stop him. He can still hear, though, and he can tell that there’s at least two other people in the room. Whether or not they came in with Anderson, Carlos doesn’t know, but he knows that their presence can’t be good. 

He’s proven right when one of them comes into view, a mask covering his face. Anderson moves his chair away and pulls on his own mask, though he gives Carlos one last shark-like grin before he does so. A camera replaces the chair, red light blinking, and Carlos feels sick with dread as he realises what is going to happen.

He hears Anderson’s other guy step behind him and he braces himself for whatever they’re going to throw at him.

“You’re gonna tell us the names, one way or the other,” Anderson says, voice silky soft. “But, just in case you’ve got any ideas about resisting, I think I ought to add a little extra...incentive.”

He bends down, lips almost brushing Carlos’s ear. “T.K. Strand,” he whispers, dragging out the syllables.

Carlos recoils as much as he is able, staring at Anderson with undisguised horror. “What have you done to him?”

Anderson laughs. “Nothing, yet. But he’ll be watching, Reyes. He’s gonna watch you die, but not before he watches you spill every little secret the APD has.”

Carlos can’t breathe. “No -” he manages, but then there are hands in his hair, on his face, forcing his head back harshly.

He has time for one last gasping breath before a cloth is forced over his face and water comes pouring down.

* * *

Carlos doesn’t know how long it’s been. He’s exhausted, and soaked, and he can’t stop shivering. The handcuffs are the only things keeping him in the chair at this point, and even then it’s a close thing. He coughs, and apparently Anderson considers that defiance enough as his men throw another pail of ice water over him. 

“C’mon Reyes,” Anderson wheedles. “You’re dead already. I know that. You know that. Don’t you have any last words for our audience, huh? Any...I don’t know, names? Don’t you want to get revenge on the captains sitting pretty in their office while you die for them? Huh? You gotta make your death mean something, Carlos.”

Carlos forces another breath, then slowly, laboriously, raises his head up. He meets Anderson’s eyes before turning his gaze to look directly down the camera. 

He tries to speak, but he’s too tired, the words refusing to come out. Anderson leers at him. “Need some water there, Reyes?” he asks, delight clear in his voice.

Carlos panics. “No,” he croaks. Then, louder, “No!” He takes a moment to compose himself and sits up as straight as he can, forcing himself to smile.

“T.K.,” he says, hoping that T.K. is listening, and also dreading that exact thing. “T.K., I’m sorry. I love you. I love you. I -”

The cloth is forced back over his face and Carlos chokes as water fills up his mouth and eyes and nose. It’s left on longer than before - too long - and Carlos wonders if he’s pushed them too far, if this is when he dies. The thought isn’t as terrifying as it had been earlier.

But then the cloth is ripped away and replaced with Anderson’s face, mask pulled back to showcase the full extent of his fury.

“That was sweet,” he snarls. “And stupid. You overestimate your importance to me,  _ boy _ .” He pulls back, staring down at Carlos with disdain. “Finish it.”

And Carlos doesn’t have time for another thought as he’s grabbed again, fists flying at every inch of his body. At some point, the chair tips over, and the cold pain of his face being pummelled into concrete is the last thing Carlos knows.

* * *

He can’t breathe. 

He can’t - 

Carlos brings his hands up to his throat, eyes flying wide with panic as everything comes flooding back to him. There are voices, shouting, but Carlos can’t figure out what they’re saying through the haze of fear. A face comes into view and it feels familiar, but it’s gone too quickly, replaced by strange hands and eyes and a beeping that’s getting louder and louder - 

Carlos falls into the dark.

* * *

The next time he wakes is a lot calmer. He can breathe now and relishes in the feeling, before remembering that he’s not supposed to be breathing at all. 

Carlos cracks his eyes open, squinting at his surroundings. 

Ah. A hospital.

He doesn’t know how he got here, but he’s too exhausted and his throat is too sore to bother trying to ask. Instead, he rolls his head to the side, instantly cheering when he spots the figure slumped in the chair. Carlos notices T.K.’s hand sitting limply in his own, so he squeezes it gently, knowing from experience of this situation in reverse that T.K. will be on high alert for any sign of life.

True to form, T.K., jerks awake, wide-eyed gaze seeking out Carlos. “‘Los,” he croaks, voice still thick with sleep, but to Carlos it sounds like the most beautiful thing in the world.

Tears slip down T.K.’s cheeks, but he brushes them away and presses a kiss to Carlos’s hand. “I thought I’d never see you again,” he whispers.

“Me too,” Carlos admits, but the effort of speaking scratches his throat and sends him into a painful coughing fit. T.K. holds him through it, and when it passes, there’s a cup at Carlos’s lips, pre-empting his request.

He settles back into the pillows, his eyes drifting closed. T.K.’s hand cards gently through his hair and Carlos drifts back to sleep, at peace and safe.

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed! please come and find me/prompt me over on tumblr @morganaspendragonss!


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